Кей Хупер - Hiding in the Shadows

Something had changed.

She didn't know how it had happened or why, but at some point last night Kane had looked at her, really looked at her. For the first time, she thought, he had seen her clearly as something other than a means to an end. And once he had done that ... No. She would not think about it. But he's thinking about it. He's been thinking about it all night.

She slowly went back out to the living room. "I wish..."

"You wish what?" Kane's voice was almost controlled enough to hide the underlying note of strain.

He doesn't have to hurt like this. Tell him.. Faith tried to concentrate, but the voice had vanished like a soap bubble. Slowly, she said, "I wish I'd had those years of practice Bishop talked about. I wish I could concentrate, or focus, or do whatever it takes to make sense of this."

She set her glass on a nearby table. "I'm sorry, Kane. I wanted to be of some help, but..."

"You have helped, believe me." He got up and stepped around the end of the piano so they faced each other.

"Have I?" She had to ask, even though every instinct warned her she was risking too much too soon. "Or have I just ... complicated the situation? "

Kane took a step closer, as though pulled against his will. His hand lifted to her cheek, but froze before it touched her. Faith was suddenly conscious of her heart thudding, her breathing quickening — and of that suspended hand. Last night at the warehouse she had been unable to touch him because he'd been utterly unreachable. This time, she thought, he stopped just short of touching her because he suspected it would cause him pain.

"I won't," she murmured.

"You won't what?" He took another step, and his hand gently cupped her cheek.

"I won't hurt you." She wanted to close her eyes and press herself to him, to rub herself against him.

She could barely breathe.

"That's a strange thing to say." He sounded puzzled, but his eyes were on her mouth, darkening, growing intent, watching as his thumb brushed across her bottom lip slowly.

"It's important," she whispered, not knowing why it was. "Please believe me. I won't..."

"I don't care," Kane said, and kissed her.

Faith felt herself melt against him, her mouth opening to him, her soul opening to him. For the first time since coming out of the coma, she was completely and joyously sure of who she was and where she belonged.

The doorbell was so loud in the early morning quiet that it jerked them apart.

Kane was frowning a little and his voice was husky when he said, "Probably Tim. I'd better ..."

"Yes, of course," Faith managed to say.

He seemed about to touch her again, then swore under his breath and turned away.

Feeling suspended between joy and disappointment, and an odd sense that she had been a heartbeat away from understanding something that was desperately important, Faith watched him walk to the foyer and open the front door.

For an instant, seeing Bishop and Richardson standing there, she allowed herself to hope.

just for an instant.

Then Bishop spoke, his voice hard with control.

"I'm sorry, Kane. They've found Dinah."

"She wanted to be cremated." Kane stood staring out the apartment window, through the recently installed blinds. "She wasn't claustrophobic in the conventional sense, but she told me once that she'd always had an absolute horror of being trapped in a small space, especially ... underground. I don't know why. Something in her childhood, I suppose."

Richardson watched him the way an expert watched a ticking bomb; without fear, but with the certain knowledge that the next second could bring destruction.

"It'll be a while yet, Kane. The M.E.'s office has had a busy week, and they're backed up. They might get it done in a week, but the lab is so far behind that the toxicology report will take at least three or four."

Just in time for Christmas, Faith thought.

She sat, silent and still, on the couch where she could see Kane. She thought of the refrigerated storage drawers at the morgue and shuddered. Which was worse? she wondered miserably. That chilled waiting, or the stainless steel table and sharp scalpels that would come eventually?

Not that Dinah would be aware of either, of course. She was out of pain now.

"They did a preliminary exam?" Bishop asked in the flat, almost disinterested voice that might have convinced a stranger he felt nothing about the matter.

"The usual one, at the scene," Richardson replied.

"Given where she was found, the M E. says establishing time of death will be even more tricky than usual, but his initial estimate is thirty-six to forty-eight hours, maybe longer."

Dinah's body had been discovered by two city workers searching an abandoned, condemned apartment building for the source of a water leak. They had found the leak in the dark, dank basement, which smelled of mold and ancient earth and the refuse of people who had stopped caring long before they had left the place. There in that grave of a building, where a pipe had rusted through and water gushed out, one of the men, more curious than his partner, had opened a barred door to an airtight space originally constructed as a bomb shelter.

The tiny concrete room hadn't protected Dinah in life, but the cold temperature and dry airless conditions had, in a sense, shielded her, delaying decomposition of the body that had been so maimed and savaged in its final days.

"You'll need a positive identification." Kane turned suddenly from the window, a last flicker of hope showing in his eyes.

Reluctantly, the detective shook his head. "Her prints are on file, and the dental records are good. I checked both myself. It's Dinah, Kane. There's no mistake. "

"I want to see her."

"No," Richardson said. "You don't."

"I..."

Bishop interrupted, deliberately Faith thought, to say, "Is there an obvious cause of death?"

"Didn't find one in the preliminary exam. No gunshot or knife wound, or blow to the head severe enough to kill. The M E. thinks she probably bled to death, partly from internal injuries. Or if she was alive when they put her in that airtight room, she could have... could have suffocated." Richardson paused, cleared his throat, then went on stolidly.

"There was severe bruising of the body, possibly caused by a fall but more likely deliberately inflicted. Broken bones, including several ribs, one of which probably punctured a lung. And both wrists were cut deeply by the wire they used to restrain her."

"Was she raped?" Kane asked, a harsh note creeping into his voice.

"We'll know after the autopsy."

Kane turned back to stare out the window once again. Faith saw Bishop send Richardson a quick, questioning look, saw the detective nod almost imperceptibly, and a wave of sickness washed over her.

Richardson was sure of the rape even if he wasn't willing to tell Kane.

Tim Daniels, who had been silent until then, asked, "Anything where she was found that might help us catch the bastards who did it?"

"Very little at the scene, though we did get a few fibers from her clothing. The forensics tab should be able to tell us more in a day or two, if there's anything to tell. We've got people canvassing the area in case anybody saw or heard anything suspicious in the last few days, but I'm not expecting results. That area is pretty deserted, and anybody who was around would have been carefully minding his own business."

Faith spoke up for the first time, asking quietly, "What about the dog bites?"

Richardson frowned. "How did you know she'd been bitten by a dog? "

"She dreamed it," Kane said.

Faith winced at the bitter note in his voice but didn't blame him for his hostility. A lot of help her "dreams" had been; last night and even this morning, she had believed Dinah was still alive. She knew only too well her belief had encouraged Kane's, had convinced him they could find Dinah alive if not unharmed.